The Good Hours

Good Hours

by Robert Frost

Explication

 

        Robert Frost invariably writes of rural scenes: forests, open space, farms and villages.  The poem “Good Hours” fits this pattern as the speaker reports his walk out of the village on a winter evening.  The poem consists of four quatrains of rhyming couplets.  The over-all mood of the poem is a mixture of melancholy and pleasure.  The speaker is alone, but not lonely.  He is acutely aware of the inhabitants of this New England village, but they are inside, enjoying the warmth of hearth and family, while he is outside trudging through the snow in solitude.  He takes pleasure in his brief glimpses of family life:  “I had a glimpse through curtain laces/Of youthful forms and youthful faces” [ll. 7-8].

            Notice that the speaker claims that “I thought I had the folk within.”  He realizes that his glimpses, however pleasurable and insightful, should not be mistaken for knowing and understanding these simple folk.  He is an outsider and in this line reminds himself of this limitation.  There is a definite mood shift in the poem that takes place in line 13: “I turned and repented, but coming back/I saw no window but that was black.”  A darkness of spirit invades the poem to accompany the darkness of the night, as candles were extinguished and the villagers had gone to bed.  The speaker has now moved from his aloneness to more of a sense of isolation, if not loneliness.  He is now aware of how silent the streets are and how much noise his feet make as they creek in the snow.  He has gone from an observer of life, the typical place for a poet, to a disturber of life.  If he were not walking alone at 10 o’clock at night, the village would be utterly silent.  The sound of his feet are like profanities in the air. 

            Frost is over-stating the case a bit here.  He titles his poem “Good Hours” and though he accuses himself of disturbing the peace, the reader comes to appreciate the pleasurable mix of sadness and joy that is often the best moments in life for a poet.  There is a deep longing for these moments and a melancholy pleasure in recalling them in his verse.